


however long the night

by CS_WhiteWolf



Series: a stitch in time [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Reconciliation, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 01:54:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4121830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CS_WhiteWolf/pseuds/CS_WhiteWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’d ask you to leave,” Arthur starts, forcing the words from between gritted teeth, “but I have the feeling you’d ignore me, just as clearly as you’ve ignored the fact I don’t want to see you.”</p><p>“If anyone is guilty of ignoring the other here, Arthur, it’s you.” Eames’ voice is tight, barely controlled, as if he’s fighting for the same amount of calm as Arthur is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	however long the night

**Author's Note:**

> This is for everyone who wanted a continuation! ;) Hope it lives up to all expectations!!

Arthur almost drops his coffee when he walks into the warehouse they’re using and sees Eames. His first instinct is to turn tail and run, but he quashes that reaction almost as soon as it occurs. Still, he can’t quite stop the way his entire body tenses, the way he clenches his jaw tight enough to hurt and his fingers just enough to crinkle the styrofoam of the coffee cup he’s holding. 

Eames is already watching him, his gaze heavy and demanding and Arthur feels a flare of anger at the knowledge that Eames must've planned this. That he must've known in advance that Arthur would be working this job and that he (without a doubt) was the reason Arthur hadn’t been made aware that the forger had been brought on board. 

He only realises that he’s stopped walking when their Architect clears her throat, drawing Arthur’s attention and spurring him on towards the station he’s already set up.

“I didn’t realise this job required a forger,” he starts, back deliberately turned to Eames; shoulders tense, neck prickling beneath the weight of his stare. 

“It doesn’t,” comes the reply and Arthur pivots on his heel, skin prickling up at the way the Architect is watching him, her gaze nearly as intense as Eames’, but beneath that a certain level of curiosity and… compunction, as she flicks her eyes between them both. 

“Then why is he here?” He asks, almost spits. He can’t look at Eames, can’t look at his face without remembering the feel of his perpetually stubbled jaw beneath his fingertips, the plump fullness of his mouth pressed against his own, the flecks of colour in the eyes Arthur had spent hours of his life staring into the depths of.

“I owed a favour,” she finishes, gaze slanting away. 

“I see,” Arthur says. “I hope this favour was worth it.” 

“Arthur-,” both the Architect and Eames start and stop, sharing a brief look. It sets Arthur's teeth on edge. 

He exhales heavily through his nose but doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to. The implication that he’ll never work with either of them again is enough. 

The Architect sighs, grabs up her messenger bag and turns on her heel with only a fleeting glance back at Eames. Arthur listens to the click of her boots across the room before the _snick_ of the door closing behind her sounds as loud as a gong in the amplified silence surrounding them. 

“I’d ask you to leave,” Arthur starts, forcing the words from between gritted teeth, “but I have the feeling you’d ignore me, just as clearly as you’ve ignored the fact I don’t want to see you.”

“If anyone is guilty of ignoring the other here, Arthur, it’s you.” Eames’ voice is tight, barely controlled, as if he’s fighting for the same amount of calm as Arthur is. He still can’t look at him. Can almost taste the frustration pouring from Eames as surely as it’s exuding from him. He bites his lips to keep the words clawing at the back of his throat from spilling forth. 

“What the fuck, Arthur?” Eames finally snaps into the lingering silence. It’s been months now since he last saw Eames, the same length of time bar a few weeks since he last heard his voice. 

Arthur feels the subtle creak of plastic as his hands begin to clench fists once more, but instead of his coffee cup the sacrifice goes to his phone and he grits his teeth as he remembers the last time he spoke with Eames (or rather, didn’t speak with Eames); the sound of his sleepy voice giving way to the hesitant panic he’d picked up on in the seconds before Arthur’d hung up on him. He remembers the sound of another voice too, the sound of another man answering Eames’ phone, from Eames’ bed, the rustle of sheets between them leaving no question in his mind as to just what he was doing there.

Arthur had thrown away his own phone after that call. And he’d made sure his new number never reached Eames.

“I had to phone Cobb. _Cobb_! Just to find out if you were still alive!” His voice is rising and Arthur turns quickly as the sound of it also gets closer. He swallows and lifts his hand to keep Eames from stepping too close.

Eames stops, but he keeps speaking: “I didn’t know if you’d been taken on a job or if the line had just cut out. I was going out of my mind with worry and, _fuck you_ , Arthur, all this time you’ve been fine? What the hell?”

“Dom would have told you I was fine,” Arthur hedges, biting at the insides of his mouth, knowing just how much Eames hated any sort of contact with Dom after the fiasco that was the Inception job.

“That is _not_ the point!”

He snaps.

“Then what is? Why the hell are you here, Eames? I’m fine. I’m alive. Both are things you would’ve known the whole time.”

“Arthur-,” and it’s here that his voice breaks, “I thought things were going well?” and it’s there that Arthur has to look away, his hand falling from its outstretched position to his side, his throat closing tight.

“So did I,” he says, though he doesn’t mean to. He swallows thickly and wishes he could swallow back the words too. But he can’t.

“Then why?” Eames implores and Arthur half turns away, pressing the heel of one hand to the bridge of his nose and dropping the cup of coffee clasped in the other to the tabletop next to him. 

Beside him Eames shifts. 

“You phoned me,” he says then, softly, cautiously, as if plucking at a half-remembered thought and Arthur twists, almost too quickly to refute it. His phone is still held tightly in his hand and he tries to shift it out of sight. Something clenches tight in his gut then and it feels too much like guilt. 

“That… that was the last time I heard from you,” Eames frowns at him and Arthur wants to look away from the hurt on his face but he can’t. He’s right. It was the last time he’d initiated contact. The last time he’d heard Eames’ voice. But it was also the first time he’d realised that his commitment to Eames wasn’t the same as Eames’ commitment (or lack of) towards him. 

He feels the familiar anger then, the frustration he knows is directed more towards himself than it really is to Eames but it still feels more welcome than the guilt, than any sympathy he might have to the hurt he’d deliberately caused Eames compared to the hurt Eames had- apparently unawares- caused him.

“You had company!” He grits out, colour staining his cheeks the longer Eames looks at him with incomprehension. 

“Company?” he asks with a half-shake of the head, as if he couldn’t possibly know what Arthur meant. And maybe he doesn’t. Maybe the man in his bed was just another in a long line of faceless men warming Eames’ bed between the jobs that kept them apart.

The thought upsets him more than it should after months spent trying to push everything Eames related from his mind. 

He turns on his heel, moving to step away, to run away as maybe he should have the second he first caught sight of Eames waiting here for him. He doesn’t want to do this. Doesn’t want to talk about this. Doesn’t want to make an issue of something that quite clearly isn’t an issue for Eames. He just wants to leave. Wants to call this job quits and hide himself away from Eames’ scrutinising stare.

Instead of letting him leave however, Eames grabs at him, fingers curling tightly around his wrist.

“No,” he bites out. “You don’t get to run away from me this time.” 

And the demand snaps something inside of him and Arthur sees red, jerking at his arm as though Eames’ touch could burn him through the layers of his suit. 

Eames won’t let go, his fingers tightening the more Arthur struggles to pull free. “You don’t get to make demands of me, Eames, not now! _Now. Let. Go!_ ” 

“No.”

The flare of his nostrils is the only warning Eames gets before he almost finds himself with a face full of fist. He dodges the full force of the blow with frustrating ease and, using his grip on Arthur’s arm, manages to shove him back and off balance, crowding him up against the edge of his desk. Arthur has to reach back to catch himself with his free arm, biting at the insides of his mouth as Eames twists his captured arm up behind his back without hesitation as he steps in close enough to still any attempt Arthur might make at struggling free.

He’s pressed against Eames thigh to hip and drops his head with an unwanted flush. This close he can feel the heat exuding from Eames' body, can smell the subtle musk that is distinctly Eames as he sucks in a deep breath despite himself, feeling Eames’ heavy exhale against his throat as he leans in closer still. 

“Arthur, I don’t understand. What have I done?” He’s too close. Words all but a whisper against his skin. Too too close. 

Arthur shakes his head. Jerking at his arm despite the flare of pain that spikes. Eames’ fingers loosen their grip around his arm and Arthur freezes, waiting until he’s been released entirely before bringing his arm around from his back. Eames doesn’t step back though. And Arthur moves as if to shove him away but… doesn’t. 

His hand hovers awkwardly between them and Arthur shakes his head, almost to himself. Who is he to tell Eames that he can’t sleep around? That it bothers him that he did when they were obviously (in retrospect) nothing to one another? They’d made no promises. Arthur was the fool who’d expected more than what had been on offer. Arthur the one who’d reacted poorly to finding out that he’d been expecting wrong the whole time. 

“Nothing, Eames.” He sighs, fingers twitching, hovering. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” He asks, cautiously.

Arthur half shrugs. “For making you worry. For letting you think-,” he breaks off. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It must,” Eames says. “I’ve done something that upset you-,” he breaks off suddenly, sucking in a gasp of air. “Wait. You said I had company? Is that why you never answered me? Why you- why you've been avoiding me?"

There’s surprise to his words and Arthur can’t look away, can’t deny them.

“But we weren’t-,” Eames is frowning at him, puzzling over this new epiphany.

“I know!” Arthur cuts him off, stomach knotting. He touches Eames then, finally presses his hands to Eames’ chest to push him back. He can't muster the energy to do more that rest his hands over the frenetic breathing of his heart however.

“I didn’t-” he’s shaking his head.

“I know, okay? I-,” he breaks off, faltering under Eames’ stare and looking away. “I know that now.”

“Arthur… you should have told me.”

With a shake of his head: “No, I- I couldn’t.”

“Yes! Yes, you could have. How the hell was I supposed to fix it when I didn’t know?” He’s lifting his hands then, pressing them against Arthur’s pressed against his chest, curling his fingers around Arthur’s own, squeezing out his apology as he gathers both his hands into one and lifts his other to touch cautiously at Arthur’s face. His fingers are unusually timid as they stroke down his cheek a moment before moving to cup at his jaw. 

“Arthur, I’m sorry.” His eyes are wide and imploring, and Arthur feels like he’s falling down into the depths of his stare.

“It doesn’t matter.” He breathes out.

“It does.” Eames disagrees. “It matters because it upset you. It matters because I didn’t even consider that you’d want me for anything more than what we had.”

Arthur shakes his head. “We never spoke about it- about what we were doing. It was just… we never made any promises.”

“I’m ready to make some if you are?” he asks. It should come out sounding too cheesy, like a bad pickup line, but Arthur feels his heart skip a beat, his lips parting on an inhale of surprise.

“Eames-” he starts, but doesn’t know how to finish.

“You’re all I’ve thought about these last few months, Arthur. Knowing you were ‘ _fine_ ’ meant shit to me, I had to see you, to see for myself. The amount of favours I had to call in just to find out where you were. Cobb wouldn’t even pass on a message for me.”

Arthur tugs a hand free then, lifting it to press his palm against Eames’ cheek as he leans in to touch their foreheads together. 

“I really didn’t like the thought of you with someone else.” Arthur says, a confession Eames already knows. 

“I really didn’t like not having you in my life,” Eames mutters, turning his face to brush his lips to the space between Arthur’s cheek and nose. "Not being able to phone you every time I thought of you."

Arthur’s heart is stuttering against his chest as he tilts his face to touch his own lips against Eames’, catching at the side of his mouth; the brush of his stubble making his breath catch in the seconds before Eames turns into him and slides their mouths together, stealing his breath completely.

He tightens his fingers against Eames’ own as Eames slides his free hand round to cup at the back of his head, fingers raking deliberately through his hair, nails a light scratch against his scalp in a way that makes Arthur’s entire body shiver up in anticipation. His mouth falls open with breathless want as he presses in close, whimpering as Eames nibbles at his mouth, teasing him with just the tip of his tongue, with fluttering kisses against his lips, before finally- purposefully- sealing their mouths together.

They kiss for long moments. The only sounds between them come in the form of their breathy gasps and the wet slide of their mouths. Arthur feels flushed, heady with want and desire and the knowledge that Eames is here with him now, that Eames came for him even though Arthur had done everything in his power to shut him out, that Eames came because he wants him, _him_! ...but over all others? 

Arthur only pulls away when Eames’ hands begin to drift lower, moving to press their foreheads together and trying to regulate his breathing. His lips feel kiss swollen, rubbed raw from the delicious friction of Eames’ stubble, his mouth hungry for another taste of Eames against his tongue. He forces himself to resist, eyes half-closed as they breathe wetly against each other. 

“We can’t-,” Arthur begins, moving to rub his cheek against Eames', body shivering up as Eames turns his head to lick along his jaw. “Not here-,” Eames bites lightly at the lobe of his ear, sucking it into his mouth. “Eames-,” 

Eames hums, letting his lobe go with a soft kiss. “We could-,”

“-not,” Arthur shakes his head, pulling reluctantly away. “I still have to work here.”

Eames gives him one of his more petulant looks. “I’m pretty sure you resigned not ten minutes ago.”

Arthur offers him a half-glare in return. “I can’t very well resign if I plan on reconciling with you, now can I? I probably owe her a gift basket now.”

“You are though, aren't you?” Eames starts, a touch of worry in his voice, “Reconciling with me?” 

Arthur pauses just long enough to see the worry turn to panic, to watch as Eames begins to open his mouth with whatever protests he can muster up. Arthur shakes his head, finally pushing Eames back the step or two he needs to put that much needed space between them. Emotionally as well as physically. 

“I think, Mr Eames, that you should take me to breakfast.” Arthur says after a long moment of deliberating silence.

“Breakfast?” Eames asks, surprised but still worried enough about Arthur’s answer not to push.

Arthur nods, once. “Breakfast.”

“Arthur-,” Eames starts, stopping only when Arthur offers him just enough of a smile to alleviate his apprehension.

“We should probably talk, Eames. We- I- need to know where we stand, if there even is a ‘ _we_ ’, before we start sleeping with each other again.” It doesn’t sound at all needy when he says it, voice firm and matter-of-fact, but he feels as though it does. He feels it in the way his cheeks warm and his body shivers with nervousness. 

If Eames agrees with that sentiment, he doesn’t let Arthur know. He does nod his head however, reaching for Arthur’s hand. “Breakfast sounds wonderful, darling.” He agrees, lifting Arthur’s hand to his lips for a quick kiss, his gaze heavy as he meets Arthur’s own, before releasing his hand. 

“In fact,” he begins, gesturing for Arthur to proceed him out of the warehouse. “I’ve found this rather quaint little coffee shop I think you’d rather enjoy.”

“Mr Eames, are you actually going to reveal one of your much hoarded secret coffee shops?” 

“For you, Arthur? Anything.”

The words warm him in a way he’s sure he isn’t used to feeling, and he has to turn his face away to hide the smile that curves his lips enough to dimple his cheeks. He’s sure Eames catches sight of it however if the grin he’s suddenly sporting is anything to go by.

 

**end.**


End file.
